


War Games

by Lalaen



Series: Canon is as Canon Does feat. The Hijinks of 104th Training Division [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 104th dicking around, Bertl being introspective as usual, Bloody Kisses, Bruises, Fighting Kink, M/M, Play Fighting, Roughhousing, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>104th Division decides to have a sparring tournament. Though it wasn't Bertholdt's intention to participate, he soon finds himself showing off skills he learned on a very different training field where there was no fun and games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Games

"I don't hit girls, I don't!" Reiner said with his usual shit-eating grin on his face, backing up a step and holding up his hands to try and get Mikasa to yield. She definitely looked like she was going to hit _him_ until he reconsidered his stance on the matter. Bertholdt couldn't hide a small smile. 

"I've got fifty pounds on you Ackermann, that's just not fucking fair," he might find it easier to talk his way out of the messes he got himself into if he could make it seem less like he was about to burst out laughing, but that was just Reiner, wasn't it?

Several of the trainees of 104th - Bertholdt had no idea who had started it, but he wouldn't be surprised at all if Connie were among them - had decided that it would be fun to have a sparring tournament. It might not be the smartest idea, and the instructors would no doubt have something to say about it when they noticed, but everyone seemed like they were having a good time with it, so that was alright. Bertholdt was perfectly content to sit off by the side with Armin, who, as usual, had his head in a book.

Reiner was doing very well. Of course, due to his size and strength (and their training, Bertholdt added in the back of his mind; the training that came before this where you did well or you got beat), that was entirely expected.

"Who's winning?" Armin asked as he turned another page, a hint of humor in his voice that no doubt owed to the fact that he could now hear Mikasa's angry voice. He'd been asking this periodically over the last hour, seeing as that he wasn't interested enough to watch.

Bertholdt hummed softly. "Mikasa beat Annie and Reiner beat Marco."

"Reiner doesn't hit girls," Armin was smiling now, though he hadn't looked up.

"That's what he's trying to tell her." Bertholdt couldn't help but smile too, and they sat there like they were sharing some secret joke.

"Bertl!" 

His head shot up at the sound of Reiner's voice, but then he had to resist rolling his eyes. As usual, it seemed he was needed to be the voice of reason…

"He doesn't have a problem fighting ladies."

Bertholdt stopped halfway through pushing himself up. He slowly looked up at Reiner, meeting with the exact mischievous smile he'd expected to. They stared at each other for a good long moment, Bertholdt silently asking if he was actually expected to do this and Reiner teasing him with his gaze, saying he absolutely was.

Show off, Reiner said without saying it. Show them what you can do.

It was a very hot day, one of the hottest so far that year. Everyone who'd been participating in the sparring tournament was stripped to bare chests or bras; straps in ungraceful piles around the combat training grounds. That was going to really get the instructors pissed, seeing as they weren't supposed to take them off. However, even Bertholdt and Armin had shrugged out of their straps where they sat; if only to get rid of the terrible sweat-causing back piece.

As Bertholdt stood, he stripped out of his thin shirt and tossed it on top of his jacket, rolling his shoulders. He didn't miss Reiner's appreciative look, but ignored it for the sake of not blushing. He was already far too uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes on him.

Mikasa stepped away from Reiner, and it was then Bertholdt realized that the other trainees had reformed their loose circle around them.

He looked back to the girl in front of him, and remembered he had no time to be nervous. He sized up his opponent - she was dirty, no doubt from her struggle with Annie. Her power was clearly in her arms; he'd rarely seen biceps like that on a woman. Her core was nothing to be ignored either, especially considering how she handled herself on the gear. He knew he'd be fine all but disregarding her legs, as she was clearly a top-heavy fighter. Honestly, were she to use her legs she'd be at a huge disadvantage against him. It was the main reason that he rarely sparred with Annie. 

Bertholdt fell into a casual fighting stance as Mikasa put up her fists. He dropped his weight just a fraction, then a moment later was throwing it back on his heel as she came at him.

She blocked his sweeping high kick with her forearm but failed to throw him off balance. In turn he deflected one, two, three of her punches and caught her wrist on the fourth, using it to pull her close enough to grapple. He barely got an arm around her before she had him with fists and elbows.

There was no doubt about it, Mikasa was fast. This was a battle of speed. They kept up hit for hit, though they landed few. Bertholdt had totally lost awareness of their audience, his focus honed to a knife's edge.

He knew that to win, he'd need to get his arms around her. The only way she'd be able to pin him was if she wore him down enough; not that he was discounting that by any means. The girl was a real powerhouse, and he could already feel his ribs aching from the bruises she'd no doubt given him.

Mikasa managed to knock him flat with a sweep to the knees, overbalancing him and slamming him into the ground. His ears rang as his head hit the packed dirt with a dull thud. The dizzying ache made it too hard to bounce back up, and the girl smashed into him before he could manage it. Bertholdt grabbed her arms, struggling desperately as she tried to get a hold.

Another difference worked in his favour. 

She was a good fighter, certainly. However, it was only a lesson to her. Only a skill. To him, hand-to-hand combat had always been a matter of life and death. It was win or die.

He managed to get an arm around her waist and pry her off, rolling with her to keep her down with his weight until he could move into a proper hold. Mikasa was under him; and he struggled to hold the writhing girl in a pin with his face locked in a snarl. "Surrender," he said through gritted teeth.

Her body went lax in a great huff of air, and it was only then that he gained awareness of her breasts crushed up against his chest. He went red.

He was also still very dizzy.

"Sorry, are you okay?" Bertholdt muttered sheepishly as he got off of her, trying to pay no mind to the cheering and hollering of the rest of their division around him while he scrambled to his feet.

Instead of answering, Mikasa stuck out her hand to shake. He was wary, examining her stoic face for a sign that she might be using this as an opportunity to surprise attack; but he reminded himself that this was not his home village, and accepted. He forced himself to return her eye contact.

"Good fight," Mikasa said in her soft voice, "but I'll win next time."

"Wow, Bertl, I've never seen anyone beat Mikasa!" Eren was nauseatingly enthusiastic despite an incredible bruise welling on his jaw. Grinning like that must hurt. 

"Now you and Reiner have to fight," someone called from nearby - it sounded like Samuel. Bertholdt immediately frowned, glancing around for Reiner. Thankfully he was close, and still smiling like an idiot. 

He clapped Bertholdt on the shoulder. "Now, now. I don't think you all want that."

"We'll never stop," the taller boy added, too quietly to really hear in a crowd like this. He swatted at Reiner's light elbow to the side. 

"Come on, come on," Ymir's obnoxious voice carried unmistakably from wherever she was.

"I don't think Reiner would hit Bertholdt, either," piped up Christa. A quick glance confirmed that she hadn't really been in on the fighting, her fair skin unmarked except by sunburn.

Bertholdt found himself blushing again. There was a reason, he supposed, that all of the guys talked about Christa. 

His blush was suddenly supplemented by the fact that Reiner's hand had moved to clasp on the back of his neck. "He can take it," he chuckled, and as usual it did weird things to Bertholdt's stomach.

"Show us!"

Reiner exchanged a mischievous glance with Bertholdt. It was a look that clearly said _let's do it_.

Soon they were circling each other; and Reiner's grin had finally given way to a more serious expression. Bertholdt knew he'd need his wits about him, so he took the risk of pushing the throb out of his head. There should be none of the telltale steam, or at least not enough for anyone to notice. 

As a child, he'd refused to hit Reiner. 

Then he'd been hit until he no longer cared who he was hitting.

They had always been a good match. Bertholdt had just enough weight for Reiner's bulk to not overwhelm him, but not so much that he was competing with it. His long limbs gave him an advantage against his best friend's close quarters grapple-heavy style, but if he got grabbed that advantage became a disadvantage just as quickly.

Predictably, Reiner tried to bear hug him immediately. Bertholdt struck; light strikes that were not intended to do more than keep him back. His punches were not considered worth blocking anyways, not to Reiner. He shifted his weight back, almost imperceptibly. Then they really began.

It was an impossibly well-matched fight. They knew each other so well that they fought like a rehearsed play; though their hits landed with a vicious power unprecedented on the training field. Bertholdt could kick hard enough to knock Reiner back, which was certainly hard enough to crack ribs. Reiner would grab him and slam them both to the ground only for Bertholdt to fight his way free.

Insanely, Bertholdt was reminded not of their mindless and vicious battles on another training field where the dirt stank of blood. Instead, what came to mind was a young Reiner crawling into his bed after lights out; rolling and wrestling with him under the blankets, fighting to pin him so he could tickle his sides, looking for a different cry for mercy.

As they'd reached double digits tickle fights became something more experimental, more heated - giggles would turn to gasps and fingers that had been so rough started to run over flesh with a shaky, curious awe.

At least half the time was spent scrambling around in the dirt, the taller boy fighting to get back to his feet so he could make use of his powerful legs, and Reiner fighting to keep him there so he couldn't. Bertholdt felt his wrist twist painfully as they rolled and he was crushed under the blond's heavy body, but he'd already made Reiner's nose bleed. He clawed the dirt to drag himself away, snarling, and wrapped his legs around strong shoulders to pin like that. With someone so large, a pin using the strength in his thighs was the only way.

Then Reiner surged forwards, propelling him several feet across rough dirt that scraped his back. It put him off balance enough that his pin was ducked out of, and next thing he knew he was failing to deflect a hit to the jaw that had him drooling blood.

The pain that lanced through the left side of his face was something he'd been trained to ignore. He spat carelessly to the side so he wouldn't choke, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue wakening something hot and primal deep in his bones. He was far too well-controlled to shift over this, but regardless he felt the urge pulling at him relentlessly. From the snarl locked on Reiner's face, no doubt he did too.

"What are you fucking kids doing?" Shadis's voice ringing across the training fields thankfully shattered Bertholdt's concentration in the way only that of an instructor could, and Reiner likewise paused with his arm hooked around the taller boy's neck.

"Sparring tournament, sir!" Ymir called cheerfully. Now that she was in Bertholdt's field of view, he could see that she was sporting a nasty fat lip. That was probably courtesy of Sasha, who she'd just barely beaten.

Shadis honestly looked more annoyed and exasperated than he did genuinely furious, but Bertholdt still felt his stomach twist. "Sparring tournament, eh? You all look like shit. For fuck's sake, put your straps back on - you think titans care how hot it is? Ten laps, all of you. No breaks. That'll teach you to slack off in this heat." Before he turned to leave, the instructor's gaze settled on the two boys in the middle. Bertholdt actually tried to shrink back against Reiner, more than sure they were about to receive a thorough dressing-down about how they were older and should be setting an example.

"… Fubar, get to the infirmary. You look particularly like shit," he said with a sigh. 

"I'll take him, Sir," Reiner perked up, his smug grin reappearing like it'd never been gone. Shadis gave him an extremely suspicious sideye, and Bertholdt blushed; uncomfortably reminded of every single time the instructor had reprimanded them for fraternization.

"Fine, fine. Make sure you don't get… waylaid, Braun."

There was scattered snickering among the division. Bertholdt wanted to die, but Reiner just caught his eye and winked.

That did not help.

Despite what they'd literally just been told, Reiner dragged him behind one of the barracks buildings before they got to the infirmary. He was still grinning, now more than ever.

"I think you broke a rib, you bastard," the affectionate insult was accompanied by a curl of steam from under his jacket, something neither of them paid any mind. His eyes were locked on Bertholdt's and glowing in a way that said he was far from mad.

"You knocked out my teeth," he replied in kind, the corner of his bloodied mouth quirking despite the pain as he raised an index finger to hook on his bottom lip pulling it down to show the gory absence of his lower left eyetooth and two molars.

Reiner crowded closer, making Bertholdt's shoulders press back against the wooden slats of the building. He was hot, incredibly hot - no doubt a byproduct of his healing - and even through both of their clothes Bertholdt could feel him burning. 

"… should probably fix that before anyone notices," Reiner leaned in and pressed a lazy open-mouthed kiss to his neck. His breath was even hotter and sent a little thrill down Bertholdt's spine. Reiner'd had a problem of getting hot and bothered from the adrenaline of a good fight since early puberty, and it was still as unbelievably inconvenient as it'd been back then.

Bertholdt blew a careful jet of steam at his partner's temple, so hot as to scald that fair skin. Reiner just grunted in response, continuing to press too-hot kisses over soft olive skin.

"Get off me," the taller boy muttered. His tone made it more of a request than a demand. He didn't want to get caught, and he knew they would if Reiner kept thinking with his cock. 

"You're irresistible."

"When I'm bleeding?" he furrowed his brow in disbelief, though he knew that was exactly what Reiner meant. He wiped the quickly congealing blood on his chin rather ineffectively with his wrist.

"Well, yeah," Reiner purred, scraping his teeth over Bertholdt's no doubt sweaty and dirty neck.

It was some time later - a lot later than Bertholdt would'e liked - that they entered the barracks. Just as he'd known and feared, all eyes were immediately on them.

"Hey, Mina _totally_ saw you guys making out behind B building," Connie called with a snicker that made Bertholdt's cheeks flame. 

Franz was resting his chin on the end of his top bunk, but he lifted his head to grin. "Take him right to the infirmary my ass. Nice going, Reiner!" he reached out a hand for a high five that Reiner was quick to take him up on, returning a grin of his own that was utterly shameless.

Bertholdt wanted to die. 

"You two really fucking went at it!" he had no idea who that was, but it sounded like Mylius. There was a round of laughter at the unfortunate word choice, and Bertholdt had to actively resist putting his face in his hands. He could not, however, resist staring at the floor. Reiner's low chuckle from beside him did not help at all, and he shot his best friend a side eye that he hoped was as venomous as he'd intended it to be.

"Seriously though," there was no mistaking Jean's obnoxious tone, "I swear I saw you spit out a tooth, Bertl."

He did not bother protesting the use of his nickname, something he'd given up on long ago. Instead he forced a half-smile, hooking his lip with a finger and pulling it down just as he had before; exposing a full set of teeth.

"Huh," Jean said, craning to look, "your teeth must've gone right through your fucking lip. You were bleeding like a stuck pig." Bertholdt nodded, glad they had in fact eventually gotten to the infirmary if only so he could get cleaned up; and also that there was another logical excuse for a bleeding mouth.

"No one thought you guys were gonna go that hard!" Eren's face was still swollen and he was, almost unsurprisingly, still grinning like an idiot, "I don't think a lot of people thought you'd fight at all."

"Well, it's all foreplay to him," Bertholdt found himself muttering under his breath. Marco snorted so hard he choked, the only one close enough to hear. The taller boy shot him a sheepish, apologetic look, but Marco just winked back.

Bertholdt went even redder. He really just wanted to go to bed, and not be standing in the middle of the room.

Reiner elbowed him playfully in the ribs. "Well, we've been doing it since we were kids, eh Bertl?" It earned him a none-too-light punch in the shoulder.

"Doing what, Braun?" someone called from the other side of the room. The laughter was raucous.

"Yeah, that too!" 

Bertholdt did not hesitate to throw another punch, harder this time, before he gave up and just went over to their bunk. Armin shot him a sympathetic look over the book he'd been reading - or no doubt pretending to read for the past few minutes.

Reiner didn't even look sorry. As a matter of fact, his eyes were glinting in a way that said, _you know we'll still fuck tonight_ , in spite of all the other boys around him cracking jokes to the contrary.

It was impossible not to give him a small and reluctant smile. After all, _Reiner_ was impossible; it was impossible to say anything that wouldn't end in his teasing and impossible not to love him and completely impossible to deny how damn hot he was when he was insistent and naked and wanting.

Or all the time.

Bertholdt pulled out his own book, hopeful to get his mind off of the other training field - the one that smelled like blood, where he was beaten if he lost.

Even surrounded by enemies as he was, he was in a happier place. Everything here was a game, and he might do well to try and enjoy it like Reiner did.

Maybe just this once.


End file.
